[Illustration:  Mouth of the Mayaguez River.]

During the first hour of our fighting all the powder used by us was as smokeless as that of the foe, and again and again the remark was passed that this did not seem like the real business of war.  In other respects as well there were few of the accompaniments that we conjure up in our stay-at-home imagination of battle scenes.  There was a little galloping of hooves, not long sustained; an occasional sharp cry of command or sharper oath; an intermittent rumble and jar from the infrequently moved artillery, not yet in action; and perhaps a groan or two from the wounded.  But, even when the field-rifles began to boom and shroud the landscape in drifting smoke, the make-believe aspect of the affair did not in any degree diminish.  There were no clouds of dust, no heaps of slain, no cheers, no desperate charges, and not even a glimpse of the stars and stripes.  Away to our right we could see crowds of spectators on the elevated platform surrounding the Sanctuary of Montserrate; and I remember thinking it was well no admission fee had been charged for the spectacle upon which they gazed, else they would have murmured themselves defrauded.

[Illustration:  A Bit of Yauco.]

My own most thrilling moments came about in this way:  The platoon of artillery to which I belonged had, as already related, decided that its position directly behind the hotly beset infantry was untenable, and consequently fell back at speed, for some distance.  Standing at the head of the first piece, with all my faculties engrossed by the scene before me, I did not hear the order which should have sent me scampering to my seat on the limber-chest, and so suddenly found myself alone, with my comrades mounted and away in full career.  A glance about me disclosed the fact that no other living thing was standing up within a radius of five hundred yards.  I was a conspicuous mark for the eager slayers in the adjacent underbrush; and I ought, of course, to rejoin my section as quickly as possible.  So I ran.  It occurred to me that here was my chance to show what I was made of.  I would stop running, fill and light my pipe, and stalk in a leisurely manner down the white road, thus winning, perhaps, comment and applause from high places.  I say all this occurred to me; but I also happened to recollect the story told of the survivor of Bull Run, who replied to a sneering criticism anent the Federal retreat from that famous field by the sententious rejoinder that “all them as didn’t run was there yet,”—­and I felt that I could fully appreciate the point.  So I continued to sprint as fast as I could, leaving the bubble Reputation for other seekers, or for myself upon some other day and field.  I was not afraid, and I was simply doing my duty; but I sometimes think that I may have neglected the flood-tide of opportunity, and I often wonder why, in melodramatic crises, a man’s mind is not always able to control his legs.